


And if you lost it all (We are beginning)

by targaryen_melodrama



Series: Not an end (But the start of all things) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Captain America Sam Wilson, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: The sound of tires on gravel almost drowns out Bucky’s heart thundering in his chest, and Bucky’s close to laughing again. Being nervous about having a visitor after the lifetimes he’s lived is laughable.Thing is, it’s not just any visitor, is it?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: Not an end (But the start of all things) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761457
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	And if you lost it all (We are beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to MajorMinor for the beta and for the title suggestion!!

The rising dust sends Alpine running from his perch facing the window, and his startled face would be funny if Bucky wasn’t trying to steel himself. 

He’d spent all day trying to kill the hopeful thoughts his brain threw at him since he woke up some time around 4 this morning. The unending cycle of thinking about the words he’d say, the thoughts he might or might not confess and the beer he’d serve had carried Bucky through what would otherwise be another mundane day in another mundane week. 

Well, that’s not quite right. The past two weeks would've been mundane if not for the telegram he received last Thursday—the first communication he’d ever gotten from someone he’d known since the old days. 

> _COMING OVER TO VISIT. FRIDAY IN TWO WEEKS. 1900._
> 
> _STW_

The sound of tires on gravel almost drowns out Bucky’s heart thundering in his chest, and Bucky’s close to laughing again. Being nervous about having a visitor after the lifetimes he’s lived is laughable. 

Thing is, it’s not just any visitor, is it? 

A loud, sudden knock at the door sends Alpine running again, who’d been hiding under the kitchen table. 

_Christ, Barnes. Get it together_. 

He gives himself a mental shake and walks to the front door. His Glock is already in his back holster, so he shoves two knives in his sleeves on his way to the door.

Bucky takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

“Pretty cool in Belgrade these days.” The words come out on their own, which is good considering Bucky’s focus seems to have packed its shit and skipped town as soon as his eyes met Sam’s. 

“Girona is more my speed, you know that.”

“Nothing beats Bucharest.” Bucky can’t stop the smile on his face, and really. What’s the point of security protocols if he’s gonna give away everything he’s feeling?

“Barnes.” Sam’s smiling too, so they’re both fools. Or both lucky enough that they haven’t gotten in trouble yet. 

“Wilson.” Bucky takes a step back into the house. “Come in.”

Bucky turns away to put his weapons down and means to come back to lock the door when he hears the bell sound that lets him know the door is locked properly and the alarm has been activated. The combination has changed twelve times since they last saw each other, but apparently, Sam _does_ keep up with the nonsense Bucky sends him once a month.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Sam says as Bucky shuts his drawer closed. The heavy thud of equipment falling to the floor lets Bucky know that Sam is shedding his weapons too. 

“Thanks. I was going for post-apocalyptic casual.” He’s fucking around—and knows Sam knows it—but the row of cacti lining the kitchen window sills and the knick knacks he picks up when he goes into town, or the few times he runs into neighbors, contradict him. Bucky grabs two bottles of the (overpriced) beer he got at the market two weeks ago and sets them down on the kitchen table. When he looks up, Sam is still hovering at the door. 

“Something wrong?”

Sam’s not looking at him, so there probably is. “No, no. I just—it’s silly.” 

“Tell me anyway.”

“Haven’t taken off my boots in a while.”

“Not even to sleep?”

“I’ve slept in cars and the occasional quinjet for the past, uh...I’m not sure how long, actually.”

Jesus. The overpriced beer might be worth it, then. “I know that doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten your manners, though.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Please.” He takes the time to unlace his boots before he removes them, then shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up next to Bucky’s. His fingerless gloves are the last thing to go. 

Out of his black leather jacket, dusty combat boots and worn motorcycle gloves, he looks tired. Weary. Human. 

“Do you have antiseptic? I ran out on my way here.”

“I’ve got soap and water in the bathroom,” Bucky says, nodding towards the back of the house. 

Sam whistles. “Do I wanna know how you got it?” he asks as he brushes past Bucky to get to the bathroom.

“You’d be lucky if I told you how. You hungry?” Bucky calls.

“No, thanks I’m—oh hey, buddy. Didn’t mean to scare you. Can I—can I use the sink? Please? Thank you.”

Bucky laughs under his breath as he watches Al casually trot back to one of his beds.

“He seems friendly.”

“He is. With friends, anyway.” Bucky slides the beer across the table as Sam sits down with a sigh. “So. What brings you to my corner of wasteland?”

“Oh, you know. I was in the neighborhood.”

“Uh huh.” They’d never really hid things from each other, not things like this anyway, so Bucky decides to let that go for now. “How’s the outside world doing?” Outside is a strong term—no physical borders really separate the little plot of land he and fifty other people share, some 250 miles from where New York City used to be. It’d been far enough out of the way not to be torn up the way most cities were, but not far enough to escape the cloud of nitric acid that had covered the world for weeks on end. 

Sam takes a swig of his beer and shrugs. “Pretty much the same. People hoarding water and medication, decent communities trying to stay stable, greedy ones trying to destabilize them.”

“You’re not running into any trouble?”

“Not since the Final Collapse, no. Helps that I only bust out the shield when I’m fighting nazis or traffickers.” 

“And things are getting better?” Sam looks confused at Bucky’s question. “You wouldn’t be here if things weren’t at least okay out there.”

Sam sighs and looks up at Bucky. His eyes are unsure and troubled, and Bucky wishes he’d just let it out so he could help Sam in whatever way he needs. Things don’t seem to have changed that much since they’d last seen each other, and there were very few things that Sam wouldn’t say out right.

“Things are...stable. We have an idea of which communities need help, what kind of help they need, and which ones are most likely to get...preyed on. Most people have enough food and antibacterial formula to last them a few months at least. The problem—the problem is me.”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks as he tries to get his brain to stop running through possible illnesses or injuries Sam could’ve gotten. 

“I’m...I’m tired, Buck. Really tired.” The last semblance of energy crumbles out of Sam, then, and Bucky reaches for his hand without thinking about it. “I’m not...I’m not built to deal with the end of the world, man."

“No one is,” Bucky says quietly. He squeezes Sam’s hand and gets a squeeze back. 

“I feel like I’ve been running around the—well, the country, putting bandaids on gunshot wounds. I thought I could help, put the shield to use, put _myself_ to use, but it’s bigger than anyone of us can handle on our own.”

“It’s bigger than you can carry on your shoulders all by your lonesome.”

Sam smiles, but it fades quickly. “Something like that. I—I’ve been putting out fires for three years now. Haven’t had a home cooked meal in two and half years, haven’t seen my mom in a year. You’re the first friend from the old times I’ve seen in two years, you know that?”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.” 

After a few moments of silence, Sam sighs. “I think I’ve just realized that this is the new normal. That things aren’t gonna go back to what they were overnight, no matter how hard I try. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done much more than you think you have. You know how many people travel community to community like this, helping strangers? In this day and age?”

Sam shrugs and Bucky rolls his eyes. Some things never really change. “You probably know them all by name. You don’t need a reason to rest, Sam, but if you’re still looking for one, well there it is.” 

“I’m glad I could do some good. I...I just—I don’t want to spend the last of my young years running around like that anymore.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Young years?”

“Forty’s the new thirty, don’t you know? And you’re one to talk.”

“Hey, I accepted my senior citizen lifestyle a long time ago.” Three years ago, almost to the day. He’d asked Sam to live it out with him, knowing he’d say no, but asking anyway. Bucky had learned—surprisingly enough, a little faster than Sam, and much faster than Steve—to ask for the things he wanted. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I—I just came to let you know. If you and Alpine’ll have me for the weekend, I can—”

“The weekend?”

“Yeah—it shouldn’t take me longer than that to find a place here, or in the communities further up North.”

Maybe _some_ things had changed. Or maybe after three years of being on the road and seeing God knows what kind of fucked up things daily, Sam had forgotten what Bucky had told him when he left. 

Bucky has no problem reminding him.

“Unless you wanna live alone, you don’t have to look for a place, Sam.”

“What?” Sam seems confused again.

Bucky drops Sam’s hand, gets up and crouches in front of Sam before grabbing his hand again. 

“Do you remember what I told you when you left?”

Sam’s eyes widen before he looks away. “That I’d—that I’d always have a place here.”

“As a friend or as more. I meant it.”

Sam looks down at Bucky, bites his lip. “It’s been three years.”

“And?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I thought maybe—you’re allowed to change your mind.”

“Have you changed yours?”

Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. He smiles, and this time, it lasts. “You’re the one thing I haven’t changed my mind about, all this time.”

Bucky smiles back and reaches up to cup Sam’s jaw. “I haven’t changed my mind either. You’re home, Sam. If you want to be.”

Sam closes his eyes and swallows hard, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’m home.”

Bucky’s heart starts hammering in his chest again, and it would bother him, but he should probably get used to it. He stretches up, moves his other hand to Sam’s jaw, and kisses Sam’s forehead. 

“You’re safe, now, Sam. You’re home."

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not be due to the fact that I watched Mad Max Fury Road (and I was told I should write more endorphin-inducing fics 👀)
> 
> Title from In our bedroom after the war by Stars. 
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/andrea_b_tweets) !


End file.
